


a thousand bad ideas, they're my level best!

by mrtheparty



Series: coffeeverse [2]
Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Arguments, Conflict, F/M, Fluff, buffy uses mindfulness to help with her anger, fear of commitment: the fic, kind of a songfic at the end... im living my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrtheparty/pseuds/mrtheparty
Summary: She padded along the floor around the counter, her sneakers quiet on the worn wooden floor. Both her and Marty didn’t look at each other, instead facing out the front windows as she hoisted herself up onto the counter.





	a thousand bad ideas, they're my level best!

**Author's Note:**

> this is super cheesy towards the end but you know what someone has to do it ! im writing a tyrus one shot but idk if itll be up for valentines :/ 
> 
> this is set probably a couple of months after the first coffeeverse fic!

Buffy smiled and waved as the door closed behind the last customers of the day. She held that smile for one second, two seconds, three… Buffy slumped against the counter. 

The day had been exhausting, with the influx of summer customers - mainly teenagers and tweens unhindered by the school day and deciding to spend the day dicking around in some poor cafe which didn’t do anything wrong (read: Shadyside Coffee House). Buffy had sent the rest of her coworkers home an hour ago, hoping the pedestrian traffic had slowed for the night. Of course, that was when a couple decided it was date night, and decided to keep Buffy in an extra fifteen minutes after the regular closing time, alone, trying to ignore the obnoxiously affectionate couple. 

She groaned, picking herself up and plucking her phone out of her apron pocket. 

She noticed a text from Marty, asking if she was free tonight, and she pressed on the icon to call him - replying by text was a hassle, and she still had to pack up. As the call rang through, she set the phone on speaker and placed it on the counter. After a couple of rings, he answered. 

“Evening, Slayer.”

“Evening, Mr. Party.”

She could hear his breath of laughter through the phone, and her heart warmed. Marty had that effect on her. 

“What are you up to? You free?”

Buffy groaned, stacking the plates and mugs from the booth the couple had occupied. She carried them back into the kitchen, placing them in the sink. 

As she walked back out, she called, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’, “Some middle aged couple decided it was date night and stayed late. They just left and I’m stuck on clean up.”

On her way back, she brushed a hand over the stereo, turning the low music playing over the speakers down even further, to barely a murmur. 

“What about John and Anna?”

“Left early because I thought we were pretty much done for the day,” Buffy sighed, “I was incorrect.”

“What a rare occurrence,” Marty snickered. 

“You shut up. Anyway, what are you doing?”

“Right now? Wandering around the town with Jonah and Walker. I honestly can’t even tell if they know I’m still here.” 

“Being couple-y?” Buffy assumed.

“Being couple-y,” Marty confirmed. 

Buffy looked out the window, noting the dark sky and street lamps beginning to flicker on. The Coffee House was lit up in its usual manner; hanging lights and dim overheads casting the place in a warm yellow glow which, added to the wooden furniture and floor, made the place feel warm and cozy. Buffy had only been in charge of this store for a couple of months, but it was hard not to think of it as her own. 

Down the street, only a few stores and venues were still open for business, including the few restaurants Shadyside proudly displayed, and they would be closing up within the next couple of hours. 

She hummed, tearing her eyes away and leaning behind the counter to grab a rag and a spray bottle. 

“Well, you’re welcome to come meet me at the Coffee House, but I’m not really doing anything exciting.” 

“Buffy, you’re always exciting,” Marty teased. 

Buffy knew, logically, that he was referring to their constant competitions, but it still made her smile to herself. She headed to one of the tables and began wiping it down. 

It scared her, sometimes (- all the time), how much Marty meant to her and how easily he could get her to act like she was fourteen with a crush again. 

“Psh, of course _I am,_ but cleaning? Not so much.”

“I dunno, I think I’ll have a good time so long as I’m with you,” She could hear the grin in his voice. 

“Sure you will, slick. Until you lose,” Buffy smirked. 

“I know you love to forget this, but I’m not as sore a loser as you’d think. Unlike, _someone_ we know!”

“Oh, yeah, TJ? The worst when he loses,” she deliberately misinterpreted his meaning. 

TJ Kippen was the newest member - and Cyrus’ new boyfriend - of their dysfunctional friend group, along with his twin sister Amber. Buffy had initially hated him on principal, and he returned anything she dished out twofold. Cyrus was the one who had convinced them to get along, as well as managing to turn their rivalry to basketball competition. 

Buffy was still better than him. 

“You know that’s not what I- Whatever.” 

Buffy snickered at her boyfriend. 

“I’ll be there in a minute, I’ve officially lost Jonah and Walker.”

“Staring into each other’s eyes?”

“Dramatically and lovingly.”

“Well, there’s no hurry. I still have to do the dishes and everything.”

“I don’t mind, I wanna see you.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, slick.” Buffy lied. Flattery got you everywhere with her. Buffy’s cheeks were warm and she wasn’t sure whether to attribute that to the words he said, or the fact that Marty was the one to say them. 

“Sure it doesn’t.” 

They fell silent for a few moments, Buffy moving to wipe down the counter with the stools, and Marty quietly walking on his way to her. 

“You know…” His voice came quiet, soft, through her phone. “We should have one.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow to herself, “One what?”

“Date night.”

Buffy paused in her motions. 

Marty was always hesitant to push, courtesy of Buffy’s wariness of commitment. 

Over the four years they had known each other, they had only been ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ for two - after the fiasco when they were fourteen, things had been slow going. 

Buffy wasn’t oblivious, she _knew_ that if Marty hadn’t been being mindful of her wishes he would’ve been ready to commit further months ago. It wasn’t like they weren’t dating, they would go out and hang, and bring each other as plus ones, but when they did hang out, it was rarely on their own. On the rare occasion they were, Buffy managed to plan the least romantic settings possible - Andi said she had a knack for taking the ‘romance’ out of ‘romantic dates’. 

They would kiss on the cheek and they would sling an arm around each other, but rarely would they have prolonged contact further than that. Buffy would claim she didn’t like to hold hands - blaming it on Marty’s sweaty hands (a blatant lie) and he would shoot her a look but let it drop. 

Sometimes, Buffy would think about what it would be like to hold hands, to go on dates, to kiss properly, to hang over each other like Libby and Andi and Amber did, or TJ and Cyrus - the Kippen’s were cuddly, they had found - but something always stopped her. 

“Buffy?”

She jolted out of her thoughts, hands mindlessly resuming their actions. Spray, wipe. Spray, wipe. Spray, wipe. Move to the next table. Spray, wipe. 

“Marty…”

“Cool, hold that thought because I’m-” the door swung open behind her and her phone beeped with the _called ended at 9:54 pm_ notification. “-here.”

Buffy closed her eyes, her back to him. She had expected tonight to be a calm, quiet night, maybe with some visits from her friends on their way home from work - the Coffee House was always open latest out of all of them. She hadn’t expected late nights and _feelings._

“Evening.”

“It’s already night time, Marty, learn to read a clock,” _Good plan Buffy, resort to defense tactics, that always works and it’s not like Marty isn’t completely versed in how to navigate it when you start that shit._

“I will when you learn to answer a question.” Oh, so he was really going for it, then. 

Buffy groaned, standing straight. She dropped the cloth and bottle on one of the tables and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palms. 

“Marty, I had a long day and I just…” She dropped her arms. She turned to look at him. 

Cocked eyebrow, folding arms, head tilted, lips pursed. _Cool._ He was either in for a fight, or expecting one. 

“Just…?” He prompted. 

_“Just_ want to pack up, and go home.” She glared at him. If he wanted a fight he would get one. 

(She purposely ignored the voice telling her that she didn’t _want_ a fight, she _wanted_ to talk about this, she was just scared. That was a stupid voice anyway.)

She was expecting a rebuttal, or a prompt to respond to his original topic, or a huff and for him to storm out (it’s what she would have done), but Marty just nodded, dropped his arms, and brushed past her into the kitchen.

Buffy clenched her hands into fists, frustration overcoming her. She stomped to follow him, yanking the door open. 

“Why come here looking for a fight if you’re just gonna drop it, Marty?”

She stopped.

Marty stood, pulling rubber gloves on up to his elbows. His hoodie was discarded atop the counter, phone and headphones spilling out of his pockets. His t-shirt was rumpled, and Buffy could see his binder poking out through where the collar was pulled. 

He turned and tossed a pair of gloves at her, which she caught to her chest. He flicked the tap on, filling the room only with the noise of water on the stainless steel. 

Marty turned, facing her on equal footing as always, arms crossed. He honestly looked a bit like an annoyed busboy, with the gloves, but Buffy chose not to voice that particular sentiment. 

“What are you doing?”

“The dishes. Like you wanted.”

She frowned, “So, what? You start a fight you won’t finish and now you’re doing my job for me?”

He sighed at her, annoyed or angry or frustrated. 

“I didn’t come for a fight, Buffy! I just want you.” 

Buffy flinched, “What?”

“Not in… whatever way you’re thinking. I mean, I want you. I want to date you. _Properly.”_ His face hardened. The sink level was rising, the hollow sound of water on steel turning to a solid, bubbling sound. 

“We _are_ dating!”

Marty turned away from her, “Are you sure?”

The warm feeling she had on the phone with Marty not ten minutes ago was long gone, replaced with a stress that set itself into her skin like a fever. 

“Are you… breaking up with me?” 

Marty jolted as if stung, and turned to her agape. Buffy noticed how tired he looked, bags under his eyes. His hair was messier than usual and clothes rumpled haphazardly. Buffy wondered if that was her influence and immediately felt sick at the idea. 

“That’s what you got from that?”

The water was continuing to rise. 

“What am I supposed to think? You’re here telling me we aren’t even dating!”

Marty groaned, dragging his gloved hands through his hair in stress. He covered his face with his hands, muffling his face as he moaned, “That is _not_ what I meant! That is the opposite of what I meant.”

Buffy realised she was still clutching the gloves to her chest like a lifeline when she went to throw up her hands. She stopped herself. 

Buffy inhaled. 

Buffy exhaled.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

His reply came, still muffled through his gloves, “Buffy, I love you,” Her breath caught, “But you are one of the most oblivious people I know.”

Time stopped. 

Buffy choked on the words. 

Time resumed. 

The sink overflowed. 

Marty jumped, the water having soaked into the back of his shirt from where he had been leaning on the sink. He scrambled for the tap, yelping, “Oh, shit,” as he went. 

Buffy just watched the water spill onto the floor, not registering the mess, before Marty yelled, “Buffy!” and she jolted, blinking and reaching for a cloth. She returned Marty’s sentiment of a groaned, “Oh, shit,” and knelt to mop it up while Marty let some of the water out of the sink. 

Buffy laid the cloth over the puddles, watching the water soak into it. 

Marty had never said… _that_ before. 

She sat back on her heels, purposely not looking at Marty, still clunking around in the sink above her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t realised it before, but to have it be an idea in your brain and to actively have it said to you are two very different situations. Buffy chewed at her lip, watching the water pool and spread, bleeding through the thin fabric. She should get another cloth, she belatedly thought. 

A soft, barely-there touch of fingers on her shoulder brought her from her thoughts. 

It took all of her strength not to drag her eyes up to Marty’s, but she kept her gaze firmly on the floor. 

When she didn’t look up, an exhale or a huff or a sigh or a breath sounded above her, and Marty spoke, slow and quiet, as if scared of spooking her.

“I’m going to go sit down, Buffy. You can join me when you want to.” 

The _‘or don’t’_ went unspoken but Buffy heard it anyway. She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t listen when he walked out through the door. She didn’t move when she could hear him sigh and hop up on a table. She didn’t move when she heard him get up and start pacing. 

She moved when she heard the stereo’s volume raise. 

She rose to stand. The drumming of the speaker hummed through her feet - Marty liked his music loud enough that you could feel it in your teeth. 

Buffy inhaled. 

Buffy exhaled. 

She took one long blink, attempting to clear her anxieties when she finally opened her eyes again. It didn’t help much, but at least she made the effort. 

She took in the dark kitchen, some droplets still drizzling down the side of the bench, two pairs of rubber gloves discarded on the counter, both tossed in a hurry to stop the overflow, the cloth still laying on the ground, the other utensils untouched for the last couple of hours. She noticed that Marty’s hoodie was gone, his phone and earphones with it. 

She thought about where she was, what she was feeling. She was Buffy Driscoll, currently in charge of an inherited business which she had come to love over the past few months, which she would be leaving behind soon. She was scared to have a serious conversation with her boyfriend, not wanting to leave him behind or be left behind. She was scared of her feelings for him and his feelings for her - she was scared of hurting him. She was worried they would fall apart when they both leave. She knew that he had stayed behind an extra year for her, no matter how much he claimed he just wasn’t ready for college yet. She knew that the knees of her jeans were damp from where she had knelt on the floor. She knew that the steady thrumming of the music was calming her, letting her organise these thoughts more effectively. She knew that she was scared of being scared. She knew that she was tired of being scared. 

She took another long breath. 

She turned around and walked through the door with all the confidence that Buffy Driscoll was known for.

* * *

Marty was sat, kicking his feet in time to the music, on the counter next to the register when she walked out. He was humming along quietly. In any other situation he would be belting along, but Buffy guessed he was restraining himself with respect to the situation. She almost wished he wouldn’t.

With a glance she noticed his phone set up on the stereo, explaining the music choice. 

She huffed a small smile. 

She padded along the floor around the counter, her sneakers quiet on the worn wooden floor. Both her and Marty didn’t look at each other, instead facing out the front windows as she hoisted herself up onto the counter. 

The lights from inside caused the windows to become dark reflections, showing the two back at themselves. 

Marty still hummed. Buffy started humming along with him. 

Their humming turned to mumbling. 

Their mumbling turned to singing. 

_“Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset,”_

Buffy brushed their fingers against each other. 

_“Looking up from the cigarette, she’s already left,”_

She caught the twitch of Marty’s lips in between lines. 

_“I start thinking of the art for what’s left of me and our little vignette,”_

Buffy kicked her legs in time with Marty’s. 

_“For whatever poor soul is coming next,”_

Buffy bumped their knees together.

_“She’s gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair,”_

Marty entwined their pinky fingers together. 

_“She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily, better yet, she wouldn’t care,”_

Buffy tangled her ankle in Marty’s. 

_“We’ll steal a Lexus, be detectives,”_

Marty grinned through the words, turning his head so she couldn’t see. 

_“Ride ‘round, picking up clues,”_

Buffy turned her hand to catch his fingers between hers. 

_“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson,”_

Marty gave in and leaned his head on her shoulder. They sang the words together.

_“Raise ‘em on rhythm and blues.”_

They giggled together like children when the song ended, hands and ankles locked and heads resting on each other. The beat of the next song started, a slow drumming, and Marty sat up with a smile. 

He slid off the counter and turned to Buffy, holding out a hand. 

She cocked an eyebrow, “You wanna dance?”

Marty grinned, “I bet I’m a better dancer than you.” As if she needed the incentive and wasn’t just asking out of habit. 

She grabbed his hand, following his motion to slide off the counter. 

They came together, in the room. She looped her arms around his neck, and his arms twined around her waist. She couldn’t remember the last time she had let them be this close. Her heart was pounding. 

Marty buried his head in the junction where her shoulder met her neck, sighing the words to the song Buffy didn’t know. 

_“Call me an asshole, call me what you want to,”_

They swayed together, in time with the drum beat and the low words, and Buffy didn’t know if she was scared anymore. 

_“I will love you still.”_

Buffy’s breath hitched. Marty kept singing.

_“Call me complaining, I will entertain you,”_

“Marty…”

_“Tell it like it is.”_

Her arms fell from his shoulders and he stiffened, but she repositioned them around his waist and his calm resumed. 

_“If you start a band, well, you can use my van,”_

Buffy turned to rest her head on his shoulder. They were simply embracing now, swaying ever so slightly. 

_“I’ll be in the crowd doing my level best.”_

She breathed. 

_“I’ll scream with all my might, ‘cause it’s my level best.”_

She tightened her arms around him once, before pulling back. 

“Marty.”

He looked at her, openly and honestly, like he always had. He waited for her to formulate the words. 

“You know I… Words aren’t my strong suit.”

She could see him physically refrain from a snarky reply. She appreciated it. 

“I get anxious about this stuff,” she looked away, “I think-” 

She stammered, grounded by his arms around her waist. 

“I don’t really know what it’s like to have a proper… _relationship,_ but I think -”

She cut herself off again, frustrated at her own lack of eloquence. 

“I - I think -”

“Buffy,” Marty moved an arm to cup her face. She couldn’t remember if he had ever held her like that, or if she’d ever let him. “You don’t have to force yourself to talk about it.”

She scowled, at herself or at his kindness, when he was the one getting hurt by her inaction. 

“No! I want to, I just…” She almost went to rub at her face with her hands, but the presence of Marty’s palm stopped her. She took a breath.

“Marty, I think I,” she closed her eyes, “ _love_ you.”

She kept her eyes closed, and he didn’t respond, beyond the gentle weight of his palm. She brought up a hand to hold his. 

“I don’t know and I don’t know if I even know what that is, but I…”

Buffy groaned when she found herself stopping again. She snapped open her eyes. 

“I - I want to be in a relationship. With you. A proper one.” She clutched his hand and brought it down to hold in front of her. His eyes were trained on her, and hers were on his hand. “And I’m… I’m scared that it’s going to be like my mom, or of what’s going to happen when we -” 

Buffy coughed. 

“- we _leave.”_

Marty, a man not known for his silence, spoke up finally. 

“Buffy, I’ve loved you for a long time,” she swallowed, _was there ever going to be a time where that didn’t shock her?_ “And I’m not saying everything will be perfect in the future. But we’re here. _Now._ And if you’re okay with it, I just wanna take you on a date.”

She looked up at him. Marty, with his quick wit and ever-present lopsided grin. Marty, who had come out to her, and trusted her since they were fourteen. Marty, who had taken her back after she’d hurt him. Marty, who knew her issues and her anger and her fears of commitment. Marty, who always knew what she was thinking, even when she hadn’t put it to words yet. 

Marty, who loved her.

Marty, who she loved. 

Buffy inhaled. 

Buffy exhaled. 

Buffy spoke, “You know I’m going to have bad days. And I’m going to push you away. And I’m going to be bad at apologising. And I’ll probably get too competitive and ruin our dates.”

Marty smiled for the first time since she started to speak. 

“And you know that I panic sometimes. And I run my mouth when I’m anxious or excited or bored. And I’ll probably rile you up on purpose. And I’ll probably be the reason you get competitive.”

Buffy huffed, but not negatively, “Way to make it about yourself, Marty.”

“Sorry, I got sick of your pity party, and figured it was my turn.” 

She stepped on his toe for that, just lightly. 

Buffy breathed again, long and slow. She didn’t think of the long term, she tried to focus her attention on the man standing in front of her. She spoke. She didn’t stutter, didn’t stumble. 

“Marty, will you be my boyfriend? For real this time. Will you go on stupid dates with me and hold my hand and calm me down when I’m being overdramatic?”

Marty looked at her. Marty looked down at his hand, still clutched between Buffy’s. Marty looked at the stereo, still playing some long tuned out indie song. 

Marty looked at her. 

“I knew you didn’t really think my hands were sweaty.”

Buffy snorted, and shoved him.

“Take this seriously!”

Marty laughed right alongside her. 

“Yes, Buffy! Obviously. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were oblivious, you know.”

“Shut _up,”_ she whined at him, but he caught her smile. 

Marty spoke, low and slow. They were standing very close together, huh? “Hey, Buffy?”

She swallowed. “Yeah?”

“You know what we still have to do?”

Buffy’s cheeks were burning, “What?”

Marty raised a hand to her cheek again, speaking in the same quiet tone. 

“The dishes.” 

He disentangled himself from her and walked into the kitchen, snickering.

Buffy gaped after him, red faced, and caught between laughing and being pissed. 

In the end she followed him into the kitchen, only to splash him with water and make a bigger mess than the original. But they laughed together, and Buffy was happy in that moment. With her boyfriend who was truly a _boyfriend_ now, who, even though they were both kind of dicks sometimes, they loved each other. And if, after they’re both covered in water and bubbles and the dishes are only half done and the floor needed mopping, Marty wraps an arm around her waist again and smiles sweetly and kisses her properly, well, that’s no one’s business but the dishes.

**Author's Note:**

> [ send me prompts!](https://mrtheparty.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> the songs used are [jackie and wilson](https://youtu.be/YKhYsp3uyGk) by hozier and [level best](https://youtu.be/amrDnxnohlo) by said the whale 
> 
> marty apparently has the same music taste as me sorry :/


End file.
